


A Bit of a Girl

by DorsetGirl



Category: Life on Mars, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2499542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorsetGirl/pseuds/DorsetGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a successful man in 2006 doesn’t guarantee results in 1973</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of a Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 2009 to [Lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/1730505.html)

.  
 **Title:** A Bit of a Girl  
 **Author:** DorsetGirl  
 **Fandom:** Life on Mars  
 **Rating:** Blue Cortina for a little language  
 **Word Count:** 630 approx  
 **Pairing:** Sam, Gene (pre-slash)  
 **Summary:** Being a successful man in 2006 doesn’t guarantee results in 1973  
 **A/N:** Just about the only good thing to come out of completely losing my hard disk recently was rootling around the backup disks and realising how much nearly-finished fic I had lying about waiting for tidying up. This one spoke to me so I thought I’d try to get it done and posted. A bit different from my usual, perhaps; I hope you like it.

 

  
A Bit of a Girl

  
Sam’s been here a while now, and he has to admit that sometimes - all protestations aside - he does feel a bit of a girl next to Gene. Mind, to admit as much to the man himself would unleash such a plethora of jokes and jibes – ponce and nancy gay-boy being only the start of it – that things could never be the same again.

It’s a fact, though. Observing the wild magnificence that is the Gene Genie in full flow, Sam can only feel – small. And inadequate.

Oh, he hides it well, of course. He perfected the don’t-fuck-with-me walk long before he got here, beginning with the cocky swagger he couldn’t help but adopt on his early promotion to Sergeant (although he toned that down when he found the other constables from his intake imitating it while parroting his maiden speech on “improving efficiency in the department”).

When he achieved DI at the same time he was trying to impress Maya’s predecessor, he refined the swagger to a slightly awkward “sexy” amble. He got caught practising it one evening when he thought the office was deserted, but Sergeant Alex Martin wasn’t called Martinet for nothing, and Sam had been shielded from most of the mockery until the Sergeant gracefully and inevitably moved on.

In the years that followed, Sam’s rather self-conscious striving for perfection, together with his pleasure at achieving DCI-dom, had gradually infused his natural cool efficiency with a naturalistic look-at-me elegance, and the unlikely combination had reached its zenith in what Maya had christened his “sexy-panther lope”.

He’d not been sure about that last bit. He had no problems with the “sexy panther” part – indeed, it pleased him more than he was ever going to admit - but Maya had stood firm on “lope”, and backed up her assertion with solid evidence.

Every day for a week, unbeknownst to her proud senior officer, she had used the phone that was almost as good as Sam’s to capture his back view as he sauntered away from morning briefing, and ( the evidence on the screen was undeniable) she put together a convincing case.

The six subtly different shirts topping the three pairs of identical well-pressed trousers all outlined a man who was every inch the senior officer. The slight figure on Maya’s screen radiated calm authority (which was obviously the important part), but there was something – more. Something in the angle of the pelvis, which captured forever the way he’d felt when he scored his first “Oh my God, Chief Inspector!” from the enigmatic Sergeant Roy.

So, no - Sam’s not entirely unhappy with his look and presence, and he’s always been cautiously pleased with the way the “nice tight little arse”, the “gorgeous smile” and the “careful attention to detail where it matters” work together to get him where he wants to be.

But none of it is any use in 1973. Here in the land of brown the accepted standard for a desirably manly man is still stuck at “big, strong, and handy with his fists”, at least within the Force. And the epitome of those attributes is Sam’s senior officer, the homophobe Neanderthal, Gene Hunt.

Sam should - he knows this - be bitterly ashamed of himself for finding so sexy that particular combination of long legs, compassionate eyes and “deodorant is for poofs”. But he’s not. He and Gene work well together, and if Gene jokes constantly about Sam’s need for order and procedure, there’s genuine respect behind it. Respect which is slowly turning into something more.

So Sam bides his time, and writes his reports, but most of all he looks forward to the day when Gene will treat him like a man and take him like a girl.

 

 

END


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